Albert Peterson: The Hibernia Strain

On the constructive side, I’m not a doctor or medical researcher who can formulate a cure for this condition. On the other hand if the whole population is turned into zombies there’s no way I can kill them all. It’s not physically possible. So yes I’ll run, and I’ll hide, but if the need to stand and fight arises then I won’t falter. That however will be a very last resort.

I recall Toma’s degenerative state, and how I predicted that she had a week maximum to live before her body would cease to function. With this presumption I decipher that if we can hold out and avoid detection for maybe a month, the virus may spread throughout the population and then proceed to die out naturally. It’d be even better if there were some sort of divine intervention, but realistically this is at least a slice of hope to cling on to.

I’m so engrossed in my own little world of thoughts and possibilities that the impact comes without any warning.

The lack of a seatbelt and the fact it’s a direct hit on the driver side leaves me with little hope of avoiding serious injury.

The airbags deploy, but do little to protect me as I’m sent reeling around the inside of the car as it rolls several times.

The car must have ended up on its roof because I can woozily make out the floor looking down on me.

My body isn’t in agony, but I know I’m not right. I can’t really think or breathe. I feel dizzy and unable to focus my vision. I’m groggy like I’ve been on the beer for a few days straight.

The last thing I see before I pass out is a single pair of feet outside the window. The door opens and I’m slowly dragged out of the wreck.

Friend or foe I can’t tell, but I’m at their mercy whoever or whatever they are. As I try to adjust my vision I’m able to make out the outline of a bloody face mouthing some inaudible words at me. It’s too late for anymore as I slip into unconsciousness.

We’re motoring along admirably considering our transport has survived two head on impacts in a single day. That being said, the purr of the engine has been replaced by what sounds like a bucketful of nails in a washing machine.

My mind is put at ease a little however, now that I can’t see steam leaking from the left side of the crippled bonnet anymore. The fact this is simply because it’s dark now isn’t lost on me, but you have to take whatever little positives you can sometimes.

Despite the warm summer night, the lack of a windscreen is making the journey a nightmare, with no protection from the unrelenting stream of air blasting into my face.

I just can’t keep warm, and I’m actually starting to worry my eyeballs are going to dry up and fall out of my head.

The two of us attempted conversation for a while after getting back on the road, but Emma gave up after ten minutes of having to shout just to be heard and crawled into the back seat, before wrapping up tight and lying down to hibernate.

I’m driving way faster than I should, especially since the one remaining headlight is bent downwards, providing a very small visible area of road in front of me. I’m in the middle of the road, using the centre line as my only guide, with no idea what is more than ten feet ahead of me.

I’ve no real means of telling where we are either, as I can’t even see any road signs, but I know the area and I’m just hoping I’m lucid enough to get us there on memory alone, making adjustments as we encounter each junction and roundabout.

As I squint, and strain to focus on the speeding dashed white lines disappearing beneath the front of the jeep, the only positive I can think of is there’s no chance of me nodding off at the wheel.

We’re in the middle of the country; it’s about as rural as it gets but we’re close now. The hotel is down a side avenue just over the next hill.

I pull in and park underneath some low hanging branches before cutting the lights and engine. Remaining seated I take the opportunity to close my eyes. I place my thumb and index finger on my ice cold eyelids and gently rub them in the hope it will somehow have a rehydrating effect.

It’s the longest moment of relaxation I’ve had in a while. My body is crying out for a few hours rest, so the sooner we’re out of this shattered shell of a vehicle and get secure in the hotel the better.

I turn around to rouse Emma. She’s already up and ready. The unexpected sight of her silhouette in the back seat sends a shot of adrenalin throughout my system, returning me to a full state of alertness.

“Why are we stopped in the middle of nowhere? Where’s the hotel?”

She’s talking in a low whisper, which seems loud in the absolute calm of the undergrowth.

“It’s just over the hill; we’re on foot from here. I want to scope the place out before we make our presence too obvious. We mightn’t be the only ones with the bright idea to come here.”

As we leave the car far behind and walk through the ridiculously overgrown avenue in complete darkness, the sound of the lapping water from the lake shore to our right is our sole frame of reference for direction.

Emma’s struggling with the tangled mess of briars we’re crossing in order to keep up to me, her floaty skirt and bare legs taking the occasional graze.

I slow down, allowing her to come up close behind me. Placing her hand gently on my left arm she quietly asks, “Are you sure there’s a hotel around here?”

Her enquiry exposes a lack of confidence in my navigation abilities, but it’s a fair question. After all, we did drive here in almost complete darkness, and I am now leading her deeper and deeper into thick vegetation, in what must seem like the middle of nowhere to her. Frankly, I’m a bit flattered she’s put this much faith in me, given my less than stable behaviour lately.

Luckily, I know this area like the back of my hand and truth be told, I know the route better in the dark than I do in the daylight. I’ve been here so many times in my younger days.

It’s an old disused hotel from the twenties that overlooks the lake, it’s long ago been reclaimed by nature. The route in is so obscured and overgrown that few people even remember it exists. The only ones being the old coot that owns the land and some of the older locals, all of whom are convinced it’s haunted.

I discovered it late one night in my teens after I was kicked out of the car belonging to some bird I had met in the local pub. She was taking me back to hers, but was less than impressed when half way there I threw up in her lap while leaning in for a snog.

Out of pure frustration, she opened my door and literally pushed me out onto the road. She barely even slowed down. In hindsight I can’t say I blame her. I might have had a few too many that night and with my sense of pain still dulled by whiskey, I actually found it hilarious.

After stumbling around lost in a drunken stupor for a while, I must have wandered up the overgrown lane to the hotel, because the next morning I woke up inside it, covered in scratches and bruises. I was in an old rusted bath tub, next to the window I’d broken to get in through.

Throughout the rest of our teens, Matt and I ended up using it as a place to bring girls and let the spookily romantic lakeside setting create the mood while the alcopops cooled in the lake water.

Emma, who’s still holding my arm leans in and asks, “So how do you and Matt even know about this place?”

I waste no time in giving a suitable vague answer, “Fishing trip.”

It’s too dark for her to see the smile on my face.

It’s been a while but the area hasn’t changed a bit. I’m almost feeling nostalgic.

The hotel sits in a large clearing in the centre of the wooded area. As we’re approaching the edge of the greenery, even before the hotel is in sight, it’s apparent that there’s light coming from the area ahead of us.